Never Mine
by CountessCora
Summary: Told from the POV of Simon Bricker upon a chance encounter at a gallery in February 1925. Definite Cobert! xx


**Never Mine**

_AN: the characters aren't mine. This is from a prompt request on tumblr from whatsabriard. I hope you enjoy it. It is from Simon Bricker's POV. xx_

_Thank you always to my fabulous beta, Granthamfan. xx_

**February 1925**

Simon Bricker was still upset that Cora had not been at the sale of the della Francesca as he walked along the streets of London one snowy winter night. An extended visit to what had become one of his favorite pubs had not helped keep the issue in perspective as he had expected it to do. Although he hadn't exactly thought it realistic that she would be there at the gallery, one could always hope. What a cheat it had been for only Robert's sister Rosamund to appear. He kicked at a clod of snow that attached itself to his shoe and stormily sighed. What could Cora see in that man?

"She should have given me a chance," Simon Bricker said to the empty night, leaning his tall frame against a building as he looked across the street to the very gallery in which the sale had taken place. Bricker swallowed hard. It was also the same gallery where he had taken Cora, admiring her as she had admired the art. Back then, the possibilities had been endless. Even Cora had admitted that she hadn't been the center of attention for a long time. The way she had smiled at Bricker as he made genuinely flattering remarks told him that the feeling was mutual. It probably still was, if that barbarian-that ignorant ass of a husband- hadn't interrupted them and, with no more than a look at his wife, pushed Cora back down into the submission from which he, Simon Bricker, had just started to rescue her.

Since his unceremonious exit from Downton Abbey the next morning, Bricker had been obsessed with Cora. When might he see her again? When would she decide that it was time to break free from that brute and be appreciated, cherished, ravaged with love that only he could provide? As he continued to stare across the street, Bricker remembered how his hopes had alighted when the announcement was made that the della Francesca would be sold at auction. Surely his sweet Cora would be there!

"Ah, what will it hurt to revisit old memories?" He asked himself as he slowly started to cross the street. "Maybe she'll be there waiting for me." He stumbled a bit as he walked through the slush left in the street by the ever-increasing crush of motorcars on the hectic and freezing London streets. But, he was still in enough command of himself to make it up the stairs that led to the neoclassical edifice of the one place in the city that could still hold his dreams.

Once inside the gallery, after ignoring the scrutiny provided by the man at the door, Bricker ambled slowly toward his favorite room in the gallery. He could still see her in his imagination, the night turning to day as he watched her in the light of the sun coming in through the tall windows.

Then he heard a laugh, a very musical laugh that contained the same sunlight that he had seen in his memories. Bricker would have known that laugh anywhere. Cora.

His eyes flew open before he even knew he had shut them to enjoy his reverie. Spinning around in the direction of the laugh, Bricker laid eyes on the object of his affection and let elation fill his heart. He started to take a step toward her, moving as if in a dream.

"Cora!" He began to call out but stopped short as soon as he saw the man by her side. It was the brute, Robert!

Bricker nearly snarled under his breath as he watched the two interact, catching snatches of conversation as the ambient noise of other gallery patrons rose and fell.

Cora was touching Robert's arm, leaning into him as they talked and laughed in an animated fashion - there was that golden laugh again, though not meant for Bricker.

"I'm so glad you brought me here for our Valentine's Day trip," Cora looked from the painting in front of them back to Robert, her eyes dancing.

"It is the perfect way to celebrate both the holiday and you, my angel," Robert kissed her hand. Even Bricker had to notice that the words, glances and gentle gestures between both Cora and Robert did not exactly fit the description of a woman who wasn't cherished. He felt his heart sink through the marble floor.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Robert," Cora smiled as she brought Robert's hand to her lips and returned the kisses.

Bricker nearly lost his balance as he had forgotten that it was indeed Valentine's Day. Was that why going to the pub had seemed such a good idea? Could it be the reason he could not get Cora off his mind over the past few days? Why had he been drawn here to the gallery, _their gallery,_ in the first place?

"Let's go back to the hotel soon," Cora was saying to the brute. "I can't wait to get you alone."

"Nor can I wait to get you out of this beautiful dress," Robert said, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "But, tell me, did coming here help?"

"Yes, darling Robert, it has." Cora's sunny voice was full of love for Robert. "I no longer think of this place with any connection to Bricker. I'll always think of only this night. He is gone forever."

As he tried to stay upright, Bricker had to agree with Cora's assessment. After the loving exchange and the expulsion of himself from Cora's memories, he might as well be gone forever. What was he without his Cora? Or, as he saw now, just Cora? She was not his anymore. Bricker didn't know if he'd ever be able to fully admit, even if only to himself, that she never had been his in any way.

He turned away from watching Cora and her excuse for a husband. He, Simon Bricker, would always be the better man. Perhaps he had overestimated Cora. If she were truly as bright and enlightened as she had appeared to be, she should have seen that he was the only man for her. Not the brute. She would not have gone running back to the brute! Not when she belonged with him!

"Sir," the man at the door approached Bricker. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the gallery."

"Why?" Bricker slurred as he stared at the man in extreme anger.

"You are very obviously inebriated, and your unintelligent mutterings are distracting the patrons. Out. Now."

He had no choice but to go, but not before taking one last glimpse of Cora. She still had not noticed him, as she hung on the arm of the brute, moving from room to room in the places he had been with her.

It was only when he was alone in the night that he finally admitted it. Although he'd doubted he could do it, things suddenly became clear as he walked away from the gallery. She was beautiful, but she was a fool. Any woman would be proud to be on the arm of a distinguished art historian. But not Cora Crawley. She'd slipped the hook.

"She was never mine," he said with a tone of finality.

**The End**


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